


Resurrection Woes

by sunstarunicorn



Series: Magical Flashpoint Side Stories [35]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: A Tangled Web, F/M, Gen, The Odyssey References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-28 10:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30138366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: Team One and the kids know that Greg’s alive.  Now they have to tell everyone else and the team has to deal with the fallout of hiding their boss’s survival for a week.  But coming back from the dead can be a painful process and the road to recovery…runs through a leasing office?
Relationships: Ed Lane/Sophie Lane, Kevin "Wordy" Wordsworth/Shelley Wordsworth, Marina Levin/Greg Parker
Series: Magical Flashpoint Side Stories [35]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/576850
Comments: 12
Kudos: 4





	1. The Odyssey of Greg Parker

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the Magical Flashpoint Side Story series. It follows "No Home Like the One I've Got" and comes before "Mali Sniperist".
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.
> 
> Fair warning, ya'll. This story is going to have a significant rehash of the past few stories in the main It's a Magical Flashpoint storyline. Specifically, "Homeward Bound", "The OMAC Project", and, of course, "No Home Like the One I've Got". Now, I promise that it's not _all_ rehashing stories that you've probably already read, but unfortunately, as of the beginning of this story, only Team One and Holleran know what's been going on with poor Greg. I'll try to make it interesting, but it will be a touch repetitive, I'm afraid.
> 
> Even so, enjoy!

Wordy stayed with Sarge and the kids while his teammates dispersed to handle damage control and arrange safe passage through the barn to the team leader’s van. The stocky, gaunt man was still hugging his kids, but Wordy could see the gray tinge to his skin and the extreme exhaustion written all over his face and body. Sarge had pushed himself well past his limits, over and over again, without so much as a _syllable_ of complaint.

Oh, the brunet was well aware that his boss was no saint – Sarge had undoubtedly complained to himself over the situation more than once – but never within earshot of his team. Wordy just wasn’t sure if that was because Sarge was being stoic or if it was because he was terrified of losing his friends. And after hearing the older man’s tale of John Reese and Lionel Fusco – not to mention remembering their own reaction to finding out about the magical orders – Wordy understood Sarge’s fear all too well. Knowing what he did now, he was rather ashamed he and his teammates had _deepened_ the old wound his friend carried. However justified they’d felt at the time…well, suffice to say that Kevin ‘Wordy’ Wordsworth was going to do his _best_ to make sure Sarge never had to worry about his friends rejecting him ever again.

“Word.”

The team leader glanced over his shoulder at his Sergeant. “We’re clear?”

Ed nodded. “Need any help?”

Wordy considered the offer seriously, then shook his head. Turning back to his boss and the kids, he asked, “Lance, can you get his right side?”

Alanna scooted out of the way as her brother and Wordy bracketed her uncle. The big man crouched, getting under Sarge’s left arm. Reaching out with his right hand, he gripped Lance’s left arm behind the Boss’s back; the young man returned the favor, allowing the pair to share their strength and stabilize their lifting power. As carefully as possible, the two hefted their burden up and out of Commander Holleran’s office chair. Sarge made a valiant effort to support his own weight, but he simply wasn’t capable any more.

“ ‘Lanna, no healing spells, but could you do a protective spell?” Wordy asked, glancing down at Sarge’s bare feet meaningfully.

“I can teach her one,” a new voice offered. To Wordy’s mixed surprise and relief, Neal Queenscove appeared in the doorway, sneaking past Ed into the office. Once inside, the wizard glanced back out the door and furtively drew his wand to cast a spell at Sarge’s feet. “That should last two hours.”

“Okay,” Ed agreed, stepping inside the threshold. “Neal, can you go teach ‘Lanna that spell now while Lance and Wordy get Greg here out to the Wordy Express?”

“Of course, Auror Sergeant Lane.”

The Sergeant nodded once, moving on. Switching his focus to Sarge, he said, “Greg, I’m gonna hang onto your leaves, okay, buddy?”

Sarge managed a short, jerky nod, too wrung out to even attempt speech.

Blue sought out the team leader’s gray. “Word, you just focus on the Boss. We’ll start figuring stuff out in a day or two.”

“Copy,” Wordy acknowledged.

The big man was very grateful when Ed’s plan went off without a hitch. Their team ran interference while he and Lance carried the exhausted, half-asleep Sergeant-turned-Lieutenant through the station to his van. Neal taught Alanna the spells to protect Sarge’s hands and feet and gave her a fresh supply of the same two paste-like potions the team had been using all week, along with a stash of nutrient potions. In less time than Wordy would’ve believed, they were ready to go and on their way home.

* * * * *

The group ran into trouble once they reached the Wordsworth homestead. The guest room had long since become Lance and Alanna’s bedroom. Instead of a large queen-sized bed, there were two twin beds on either side of the room. Pale blue paint decorated the walls and one wall was devoted to movie posters and Lance’s prized bald eagle landing poster. The opposite wall sported a whimsical array of artwork and crafts, all of which Alanna had found at various fairs, craft shows, and even at a Comic-Con.

Lance helped Wordy get his uncle to the couch while Alanna retrieved a blanket so Sarge could sleep while the trio dealt with the bedroom. Rather slyly, Wordy coaxed his boss through drinking two potions – one for pain and the other for sleep – and waited for Sarge’s breathing to even out before quietly signaling the kids out of the room and towards the guest room.

Before casting any spells, the teenagers went through the room, shutting down all their electronics and stacking them in a handy cardboard box that Wordy grabbed from the garage. Once it was full, Wordy carted the box to the living room – they could figure out what went where after they had the guest room set up again. With the vulnerable electronics safely out of the way, Alanna began shrinking down the beds while her brother retrieved one of the trunks they’d originally brought with them from England five years earlier. Impish, he drew his wand and directed a spell at the massive bookcase they’d squeezed into the small room. Wordy returned just in time to watch in awe as the books seemed to march off their shelves and into the trunk. He even noted that the trunk held far more books than he would’ve expected, though that, at least, the brunet had gotten used to.

Once the bookcase was empty, Alanna shrank it down as well, a slightly smug expression on her face. Lance eyed the walls anxiously and Wordy intervened. “We can worry about the walls later, kids.” The big man stepped inside and inspected the bedroom, searching for anything they’d missed, but between Lance’s packing spell and Alanna’s shrinking charms, the room was bare of everything save the dresser both siblings used. The brunet frowned at it a moment, then shook his head. They had enough room to bring the guest bed back in and besides, it wasn’t fair to ask the kids to empty the dresser and store clothing that they were still going to need access to.

When Sarge had been ‘sent to rehab’, the lease on his apartment had been maintained, but after the fire, there hadn’t been any point. With the lease holder missing and presumed dead, it hadn’t taken much convincing to get the apartment manager to end the lease and start searching for a new tenant. The team and their families had packed up everything in the apartment and put it into storage, planning to go through everything after the funeral. The good news was that none of Sarge’s stuff had been sold or otherwise disposed of, but well…once he was feeling a little better, they were going to have to find him a new apartment.

“Okay, kiddos, let’s go get the bed.”

“Copy that, Uncle Wordy,” Lance agreed, though he waited long enough for Alanna to add the shrunken furniture to the trunk before closing it and hefting it out to the living room.

Once out in the garage, Wordy looked around with a frown. Shelley had been the one who’d initially helped the teenagers set the spare room up as their bedroom and he had no _idea_ what she’d done with the queen-sized bed. To his surprise, Alanna breezed past, clambering up the ladder he used to get up to the garage’s upper level, and disappeared for a few seconds. When she reappeared, she was carrying another cardboard box. Lance moved forward and his sister dropped it down to him; he caught it with a small grunt, but didn’t drop it.

As Alanna climbed back down, Wordy arched an eyebrow at the box. “That’s it?”

Both teens smirked at him. “ ‘Lanna’s really good at Charms,” Lance explained cheerfully. “And our family likes to use a variant that’s longer lasting.” He hefted the box and added, “You can leave stuff shrunken for a really long time without causing any damage.”

Wordy blinked at the information, but it made a certain amount of sense. Even shrunken, there would be a sort of tension between an object’s _real_ size and the magic that kept it in a tiny form. Sooner or later, that tension was bound to take its toll.

Alanna wrinkled her nose. “We’ll have to wash the sheets, though.”

The brunet stifled a snicker. “You two have been here for five _years_ and Sarge’s never taught you how to do laundry?”

The siblings fidgeted. “We cheated,” Lance confessed. “We talked Uncle Greg into letting Mindy do all the laundry so she’d have something to do.”

Wordy shook his head, still amused. “Well, it’s high time you learned. Come on, you two, I’ll show you the ropes.” With that, he led them back inside the house, silently blessing the sleeping potion he’d slipped his boss. With the potion, he didn’t have to worry about accidently waking the man up while he taught the kids how to use the washer and dryer.

* * * * *

By the time Shelley came home with their three daughters, the guest room bed was back in place with freshly washed sheets, along with a memory-foam pillow that was really Alanna’s, but she’d insisted Sarge needed it more than _she_ did. Wordy had carried Sarge from the living room to the guest room, silently cursing over how _light_ his boss was. It was going to be a _very_ long time, if _ever_ before Sarge ‘won’ the heaviest member of the team ‘competition’ again. As best Wordy could figure, the _only_ reason Sarge was still stocky was because that was simply the way his body was built. He wasn’t _quite_ as thin, gaunt, and skeletal as a concentration camp survivor, but that Wordy could even _make_ the comparison…yeah, if he _ever_ got his hands on whoever had Portkeyed Sarge to the Colorado Rockies…they weren’t going to survive that meeting.

“Kevin?” Shelley asked as she came into the living room to find Wordy, Lance, and Alanna silently contemplating where they were going to put the things they’d taken out of the guest room. The blonde woman glanced down at the box full of electronics and the Calvin Family trunk sitting next to it. “What are you doing?” A thread of warning lurked beneath the question, cautioning Wordy that he’d _better_ not be evicting Lance and Alanna from their room.

The constable swallowed hard. “Ummm…”

“It’s okay, Aunt Shelley,” Alanna immediately replied, pulling attention to herself. “We volunteered.”

Technically, they hadn’t since Wordy had never _specifically_ asked the pair if they were okay with surrendering their room to Sarge, but since they’d _helped_ clear out the room, Wordy knew it was close enough. With a sigh, he looked at Lance. “We can keep the electronics in here for a couple nights, kiddo, but can you put the trunk in the garage?”

“Sure thing, Uncle Wordy,” Lance agreed. “I’ll grab our sleeping bags, too.”

“ _Kevin._ ”

Wordy winced and turned back to Shelley. “Shel, we needed the room.”

His wife’s eyes narrowed. “And we needed the room, _why_ , Kevin?”

All three of them cringed at the acid in her tone. Then Wordy forced his back to straighten. “Lance, go do that and grab the blowup mattress while you’re out there. ‘Lanna, can you watch the girls for a few?”

Both teenagers agreed at once and Wordy guided his wife out of the living room, doing his best to ignore his daughters’ intense curiosity as to what on Earth was going on. The constable considered, then nudged Shelley outside. If he told her in the kitchen, the girls would overhear, but if he took her to their room, then she would see the guest room before he could explain. Shelley allowed him to guide her to their backyard, anger giving way to curiosity of her own, but she patiently waited until they were well out of earshot.

“Shel, you remember a couple days ago, I called you and told you to take the kids out of town for a couple days?”

“Yes, of course,” Shelley replied. “You called this afternoon and told me it was safe to come back.” Reaching up, she cupped his chin. “Kevin, what’s going on?”

Wordy brought his own hand up, gently gripping hers. “Well, it’s a long story, but, um…my team and I…we’ve been undercover.”

“Undercover?” Shelley repeated, confused. “But you’re not an undercover unit.”

“No, we’re not,” Wordy agreed. “But we had to, Shel.” He swallowed hard and looked down. “Shelley, a week ago, Holleran pulled us into his office. He’d just gotten the final report on the fire…the one Sarge was in.”

Confusion shone on Shelley’s face, but she nodded, encouraging him to keep going. Gently, she rubbed her thumb against his hand, knowing all too well how difficult the topic of his boss’s death was.

Tears slipped free. “He, ah, he told us that they found two bodies, but one of ‘em was female.” Shelley gasped. “And, um, the other one…it wasn’t Sarge.”

“Oh, _Kevin_ ,” Shelley cried, pulling him close and hugging him fiercely around the neck. “How awful.”

Despite knowing the truth, a lump materialized in his throat. Shelley was right…it _had_ been awful, terrible news. To _know_ that Sarge had _survived_ the fire, but they hadn’t even _looked_ for him… It would’ve shattered them completely, if not for the miracle that had occurred only _seconds_ later. “Shelley, Shelley, stop,” Wordy whispered, disentangling himself. He even managed a smile at her expression of pure bewilderment. “Holleran told us because…because he figured something out. It was staring us right in the face, but we…we just couldn’t _see_ it.”

“What was, Kevin?”

Gently, he tugged her back inside and guided her towards the guest room. “He figured out how Sarge could survive that fire and never check in,” he murmured in his wife’s ear. Then they were at the door and he pushed it open enough for her to peer into the room.

Shelley gasped, hands rising to her mouth and eyes going as wide as dinner plates. Then she whipped around, pinning him with an utterly _livid_ expression. “Kevin James Wordsworth, how long have you _known_?” she hissed, propping her hands on her hips.

He returned her gaze steadily. “It was Commander Holleran’s call, Shelley. Sarge was still assigned to Intelligence Services a week ago. He’s been lobbying for Sarge to be transferred back to the SRU, but it wasn’t done yet.” Broad shoulders slumped. “And…and it was Sarge’s call, too, Shel. He couldn’t risk anyone finding out about the kids.”

Horror reappeared and she gasped again, reading his face and body language enough to understand. “That’s why you wanted us out of town?”

Wordy nodded. “Ed had his family leave too, Shel. That way, the bad guys wouldn’t realize Sarge has family close by.”

His wife’s blue eyes hardened. “I want the full story, Kevin.”

The big man lifted his hands in surrender. “And you’ll get it, Shel, I promise, but we have to tell our girls, too.” Unhappiness shone. “I think I can keep it kid-friendly for them, but I’ll have to tell you and Sarge’s kids the rest later.”

Shelley considered his reply, then flicked a slight glare at him. “How _much_ later?”

Fidgeting, Wordy confessed, “Maybe a lot later. Ed and I need to do something this evening and I’m not sure how long it’ll take.”

Blue narrowed, but Wordy refused to offer any more details. If _Sarge_ wanted to tell Shelley about what had happened all those years ago, that was _his_ decision. Not Wordy’s. He owed the man that much, _especially_ after their unwarranted overreaction while undercover.

At last, Shelley nodded acceptance, though her displeasure was crystal clear. “I’ll feed the children and then you’ll explain things to them, Kevin.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

* * * * *

Claire, Lilly, and Ally were stunned and wide-eyed at the news that their father’s boss had reappeared two _months_ after dying in a fire. Wordy gently explained to the three that Sarge hadn’t been resurrected or anything like that and promised to tell them more after dinner. In the meantime, once Sarge woke up, the constable and Lance supported him from the guest room to the bathroom. Wordy evicted Lance and helped his boss through a shower, patiently overriding Sarge’s embarrassment. Oh, Wordy was just as embarrassed by the situation, but he refused to let that stop him.

After the shower, Wordy retrieved a bag with Carl Elias’s outfits that he’d brought home and picked out the most comfortable looking of the lot. As much as he really didn’t want his boss looking like Carl Elias, the sad truth was that the Elias clothing was the only clothing that _fit_ Sarge’s shrunken frame. Gritting his teeth, Wordy headed back to the bathroom, snagging the two paste-like potions on his way. It took another half hour to get Sarge dressed and treated, then the big man supported his injured boss to the living room. The carpet was better for Sarge’s bare feet than the cool hard tile of the kitchen.

Alanna retrieved one of the small wooden folding tables that Wordy’s family kept on hand and set it up while Wordy himself headed to the kitchen to let Shelley know that Sarge could only have soup for another week. In light of the invalid, Shelley decreed that the whole family could congregate in the living room for dinner, news that made their daughters goggle – they were _rarely_ allowed to eat anywhere except at the family table in the kitchen. Wordy himself was just grateful that Alanna was able to cast a protective spell on Sarge’s hands in the living room without any risk to the electronics once dinner was served.

Even with the spell and several hours of sleep under his belt, Sarge struggled to eat, his exhaustion and the nerve damage to his hands combining to make them shake. He dropped his spoon back in the soup bowl more than once, but soldiered on, refusing to let his poor physical condition win the war. By the time he finished his meal, his shoulders were trembling, as though his entire body was reacting to the exertion he’d just put forth. Alanna crept close with a nutrient potion, but the girl had to hold it for Sarge when his shaking hands nearly knocked it to the ground.

Lance cleared the dishes and the folding table away, his solemn expression keeping the girls quiet. Wordy didn’t even bother trying to support his boss back to bed. Ignoring Sarge’s weak protest, he hefted the older man up and carried him to the guest room. Alanna went ahead of them to pull the covers down and the pair had Sarge tucked in almost before he knew what they were up to. Exhausted, Sarge curled in on himself under the covers, oblivious to Alanna sneaking sideways on the bed to be right behind him. She reached forward, to the same spot Ed had told the team about, and started rubbing. In seconds, Sarge’s breathing evened out as his gryphon instincts pulled him under. Wordy might’ve protested, but the last thing they needed was to accidently get Sarge hooked on sleeping potions. He’d already had one earlier and the constable was wary of giving him another so soon.

“You’re gonna bring them in here, aren’t you, Uncle Wordy?” Alanna murmured.

Wordy gave her a sharp look, then nodded. It would’ve made more sense to leave Sarge alone and tell the story in the living room, but… As much as his _head_ knew that Sarge was _alive_ , his heart was still having trouble remembering that fact. Even when he – and the others – had been angry with Sarge over the magical orders, he’d woken up more than once in a cold sweat, convinced Sarge’s miraculous return had been nothing more than an impossible dream. Sarge didn’t know it, but every member of his team had snuck into Elias’s penthouse during the nights, just to reassure themselves that they _weren’t_ dreaming, that he _was_ still alive and solid and _real_. To tell the story anywhere else…where he _couldn’t_ see Sarge and _know_ he was there…he couldn’t do it. Maybe someday he would be able to, but not now. Not with it still so fresh and so raw.

Reluctant, Wordy straightened and headed back to the living room to help clean up the dinner dishes. And try, once again, to figure how to tell his girls without giving them so much as a _hint_ how bad it had _really_ been for Sarge.

* * * * *

Shelley protested all of them cramming into the guest room, but Lance temporarily shrank down the dresser and levitated the bed – with his sister and Sarge still on it – to the very back of the room, pressing it against the wall. Both actions gave the group enough room that the little girls were able to haul in two bean bags and a cushioned blue fabric something that could lay out on the ground or fold into a chair. Lance perched on the bed, trading off with his sister to keep rubbing Sarge’s back, thus ensuring he wouldn’t wake up during the story, and Shelley rolled her eyes, then dragged in a comfortable rocking chair and positioned herself behind their daughters.

Wordy opted to sit with his back pressed against the bed, mentally reaching for the ‘team sense’ every so often to reassure himself. The sound of Sarge’s even, steady breathing helped more than the older man would ever know, but as unnerving as the ‘team sense’ often was…it had become _theirs_. Something the team shared with each other, a tangible symbol of the unbreakable friendship that lay between them. It could shake and tremble and even fracture, but a part of Wordy knew it would never, ever break. If they lived a thousand years or more, still the ‘team sense’ would remain, as constant as the sun, moon, and stars.

Focusing on his girls, he leaned forward, forcing his eyes to light up with enthusiasm he didn’t truly feel. “All right, kiddos, ready for the story?”

“Yeah!” Ally enthused before her sisters could reply.

Wordy grinned at his youngest. “Okay, here we go.” The grin grew wider and he leaned further in. “Once upon a time…”

“Daddy!” Lilly protested, making a face. “That’s _baby_ stuff!”

“Yeah!” Ally agreed vehemently. “Baby stuff!”

The brunet gave them a look of mock offense. “Baby stuff?” he demanded. “All great stories start that way!” He shook his head in mock sorrow. “Kids these days,” he lamented. “No respect for the classics, I tell you.”

Behind him, Alanna giggled and Lance muffled his snort.

“Well, if you guys wanna hear the story, you’re gonna have to put up with it,” Wordy declared, casting his daughters a jaundiced expression. “You still wanna hear it?”

The three girls traded looks of despair, then sighed and turned back, adopting attentive postures. “Yes, Daddy,” Lilly replied.

“All right then,” Wordy agreed. “Now, where was I?” More snickers came from behind him. “Quiet in the peanut gallery back there!”

“Yes, Uncle Wordy,” Alanna said contritely even as her brother muffled another snigger and Shelley sighed at her husband’s antics.

The brunet smirked to himself. “All right… Once upon a time, there was a team of cops,” he preened, “who always stopped the bad guys and kept the peace.”

His daughters cheered.

“The team had many adventures,” Wordy continued. “And saved a lot of lives along the way. They saved so many lives that they were famous throughout the land.”

More giggles from his girls – and the peanut gallery.

“But one day, the team’s Sergeant found out that a bad guy he arrested a long time ago had broken out of prison. The bad guy’s name was Castor and he was so evil that the king of the realm decided that it was too dangerous for the Sergeant to stay with his team and his family, so he ordered the Sergeant to leave his team and lie to them about why he was leaving.”

“But why?” Lilly interrupted. “Why would he make the Sergeant lie, Daddy? Doesn’t he know that’s not nice?”

Wordy nodded gravely. “Sometimes, pumpkin, the bad guys are so dangerous that you have to lie. If you don’t lie, then the bad guys might hurt the people you care about. The Sergeant knew that, so he didn’t argue with the king and he obeyed the king’s order to make his team think he was leaving because he’d…um…gotten sick.” The brunet closed his eyes, struggling for the best words. “The king ordered the Sergeant to go undercover and pretend to be a bad guy. Only two people knew that the Sergeant wasn’t a bad guy. The Sergeant’s boss and a woman named Brenda. The Sergeant’s team believed he’d gone away to get better and the bad guys thought the Sergeant was one of them.”

“What happened to the Sergeant’s team, Daddy?” Claire asked anxiously.

Wordy smiled sadly at his eldest. “The Sergeant’s team was very sad, Claire. They missed the Sergeant and wished he could come home, but they didn’t know he was pretending to be a bad guy. They thought he’d started drinking and that he didn’t care about them anymore.” Oh, dear gawd, this was harder than he’d ever thought it would be. “When…when the Sergeant left, one of his teammates was made the new leader and he led the team for two months. During those two months, the Sergeant and Castor started fighting with each other. The Sergeant liked to be sneaky and he’d set up traps so Castor’s men would get arrested without anyone getting hurt, but Castor didn’t care who he hurt. He knew the Sergeant had promised to protect people and if he hurt people, he would hurt the Sergeant, too.”

“The Sergeant’s team should tell Castor’s Mommy on him!” Ally declared.

Shelley swallowed a snort, though her eyes danced at Wordy’s poleaxed expression. “Well, um…Ally, Castor’s Mommy wasn’t like your Mommy. She never taught him that it was wrong to hurt people. That’s why he was evil.” Clearing his throat, he quickly moved on. “So one night, Brenda came to the Sergeant’s team and told them that she could help them catch one of the bad guys.”

“The _evil_ bad guy?” Lilly asked hopefully.

“No, sweetheart, she said she could help them catch another bad guy. His name was Elias.” Wordy shifted, hearing an ever so slight hitch in Sarge’s breathing, but it quickly smoothed out. “The team agreed to help her catch Elias and she told them where Elias lived. When they went to arrest Elias, they found out that Castor was attacking Elias to try and hurt him. Then one of Castor’s men tried to hurt the team’s new leader.”

His daughters gasped in horror and Shelley froze, eyes widening in shock.

“But someone stopped the bad guy before he could hurt the leader,” Wordy hurried to add. “And when the leader looked up to see who had saved him, he thought he saw the Sergeant.”

“ _Did_ he, Daddy?” Claire asked immediately.

“He wasn’t sure, honey,” Wordy replied. “One of Elias’s men came and talked to the team. If the team would help them get away from Castor’s men, then they would let the team come with them to their hideout. The leader agreed, but asked the man if he could meet Elias.” He smiled briefly. “The rest of the team was scared, but they trusted their leader to know what he was doing, so they went with him to the bad guys’ hideout.”

“Did the leader meet Elias?” Alanna asked quietly.

Wordy craned up to meet her eyes. “He did. But he didn’t talk to the team about the meeting when he came back to them.” Shifting back to his girls, he continued, “So the team left the bad guys’ hideout without Elias. The leader was so sad that Elias wasn’t the Sergeant that he called the Sergeant and begged him to come home.”

“Did he?” Ally whispered.

“No, pumpkin, he didn’t. He and the leader talked for a little bit, then the Sergeant started slurring his words and hung up. But before he hung up, the leader told the Sergeant that Brenda had been the one to send the team after Elias.” Wordy bit his lip, wishing he could skip over the fire, but it was too important. “Two days later, Castor managed to hurt the Sergeant’s boss. But the Sergeant was too smart for him. He tricked Castor into coming after him and he stopped Castor from hurting anyone ever again.”

The girls didn’t cheer; his expression alone told them that the story wasn’t over.

“But the Sergeant disappeared,” Wordy choked out. “The Sergeant’s boss finally told his team the truth about all the lies and he told them something else, too.” Tears slipped down. “He told them that Brenda was Castor’s sister and that when she sent the team to arrest Elias, she’d really sent them after the Sergeant.”

“Oh, _Kevin_ ,” Shelley cried, knowing how much that must have _hurt_ to hear.

“They… _we_ …we thought Sarge was gone and that Brenda had gotten away.” Wordy hung his head, unable to maintain the cheerful storytelling tone anymore. Absently, he hugged himself. “He…he was _gone_ …and we never got to say good-bye…”

His girls surrounded him, hugging him fiercely. He savored their warmth, just as he savored the even breathing he could still hear from behind him. Mentally, he clung to the ‘team sense’, to that part of himself that was _Sarge’s_. After several minutes, the brunet forced himself to continue. “The, um, the Sergeant, he found himself in the mountains.”

“The mountains?” Shelley asked skeptically.

Wordy nodded without looking up at her. Gazing down at his daughters, he strove for the storytelling tone again. “Now, the Sergeant had magic. Not many people knew about his magic, but his team did and so did his family. And one part of the Sergeant’s magic let him turn into an animal.”

“A kitty?” Ally wondered, cuddling close to her father.

“No, a doggie,” Lilly disagreed. “He’s loyal, like Daddy.”

Wordy managed a chuckle. “Yes, he is loyal, but his animal form isn’t a dog. It’s a gryphon, like Lance.”

“Oooooh,” all three girls cried. They remembered when Lance had been turned into a four-year-old and his gryphon form had been the size of a lion cub.

“Now, normally, the Sergeant could transform back and forth, but someone put a collar on him. The collar had bad magic in it, so the Sergeant couldn’t transform and he couldn’t call for help either. He was stuck as a gryphon.”

“In the Colorado mountains,” Lance filled in drily.

“They’re called the Rocky Mountains,” Claire offered helpfully.

Wordy nodded soberly. “So the Sergeant decided if he couldn’t call for help, he would have to walk all the way home.” Manfully, he ignored Shelley’s horrified gasp and the sudden stillness from behind him. “The Sergeant started down the mountains, but part way down, he ran into a woman named Amber.” In spite of himself, Wordy smiled. “Amber was trying to get away from two bad guys, but her car had broken down, so she was running through the woods. The Sergeant stopped the bad guys and after he did that, the local cops showed up and arrested the bad guys.”

“Did they help the Sergeant?” Lilly asked.

Sorrowful, Wordy shook his head. “No, honey, they didn’t. They thought the Sergeant was a wild animal, so they chased him away. But Amber figured out he wasn’t a wild animal and after she got herself a new car, she found the Sergeant and offered him a ride. She couldn’t get him _all_ the way home, but her home was a lot closer to Toronto, so the Sergeant went with her.” Drawing in a breath, Wordy continued, “When Amber arrived home, the Sergeant started walking to Toronto. Thanks to Amber, he was closer, but it was still a long ways away, so it took him another two months to walk all the way home.” Again, his eyes slipped closed. “But when the Sergeant got home, he found out some evil wizards had captured his team and put them under a mind-control spell. Two of them had gotten away, but the others were about to hurt a lot of people.”

“That’s _mean_ ,” Ally declared.

He couldn’t smile…it was still too close, too raw. A sniffle escaped. “The two…the two that had gotten away, they tried to stop their friends, but the leader was too far away and they couldn’t stop him before he started a fire.” He felt his daughters latch on again, but nothing could warm the cold pit of his soul at the memory of _Ed_ , trapped in the path of a fire. The way Ed had begged him to go, to leave his one remaining best friend behind to _die_. That terrible moment when Hawke had used a chokehold on him and his last instant of consciousness had been Ed calling Sarge’s name… When he’d woken up, he’d _known_ , with everything in him, that Ed was gone, that he’d _heard_ Ed die because…because Sarge was dead and Ed had to have seen him to call out his name. He hadn’t really believed Ed was alive until the next day, after he’d had gotten out of the hospital with no more than a few bruises and a bit of smoke inhalation.

“The team…they had to leave the leader behind because he was right in the middle of the fire.” Unbidden, a sob escaped and he reflexively clung to his daughters. “But the Sergeant showed up in the nick of time. He charged into the fire and got the leader out safely. Once the fire was put out, the team found the collar around the Sergeant’s neck and a message that Amber had tied to it. They called her and she helped them figure out how to get the collar off the Sergeant. Once they got the collar off, the Sergeant was able to transform back to human and…and the team was happy again. The End.”

It wasn’t the end and he knew Shelley and Sarge’s kids had already seen right through him. His daughters probably had, too, but he had no intentions of telling them about the undercover assignment or _why_ the lies had been so very necessary. Without speaking further, he clung to his girls and the ‘team sense’. They clung right back, nuzzling into him and finally warming his soul. If he _never_ had to tell that story again, it would still be too soon.


	2. The Bloody Cost of Heroism

Wordy slipped out of Ed’s car, the two of them trading grim looks before the brunet lifted his hand in farewell and turned to walk towards his house. In the cool night air, Wordy let his pace slow to a stop so he could let his temper simmer down. It had been stupid to deliberately hunt down Fusco, _just_ so they could taunt him with Sarge’s survival, family, and promotion, but the team leader still couldn’t find it in himself to regret their actions. However dumb their taunts might’ve been, Fusco had hurt Sarge – and so had _they_. Sarge…he’d never, ever accept an apology. The noble _git_ honestly _believed_ that he _deserved_ the way they’d treated him after finding out about the magical orders. So since they couldn’t apologize, payback on his behalf was the next best thing. However idiotic and foolish it turned out to be.

With a tiny sigh, Wordy stepped up on his porch and slipped inside his house to head for the kitchen. He wasn’t surprised to find Shelley, Lance, and Alanna waiting for him. All three had mugs in front of them…hot chocolate if he knew Shelley. And, sure enough, Shelley was nudging a fourth mug across the table to him. Wordy sat down, pulling the mug to him and inspecting it for an instant. He smiled sadly at the mug; it was one he’d had _forever_ and he’d even let Alanna put runes on it to convert it into a Self-Heating mug. Gently, he rubbed his thumb over the Toronto Police Academy emblem emblazoned on the side.

“Kevin? How did it go?”

Wordy shrugged without looking up. “It went,” he replied. “Not sure it was the greatest idea we’ve ever had, but we did it.”

Shelley frowned, but didn’t press him further. Instead, she waited until he’d sipped at his drink for another few minutes before clearing her throat rather pointedly.

Mentally, Wordy winced. Sighing, he looked up at his patient audience. “All right, all right. The girls are in bed?”

His wife’s lips pursed. “Yes and Greg hasn’t stirred even once since you left.”

The brunet nodded at the news and turned the mug in his hands, flicking a glance down at the hot chocolate. Inside his mind, he reached out to the ‘team sense’, careful not to disturb his sleeping boss, but _needing_ that tangible reassurance that he was _alive_. Especially if he was going to be telling the whole, miserable story.

“Kevin.”

Gray struggled to meet his wife’s blue. “You, ah, you want the whole story or just the gory details?”

“Let’s start with the injuries,” Lance decided before Shelley could speak.

Wordy smiled sadly. “Copy that, kiddo.” Flicking his gaze down at the hot chocolate again, he said, “Okay, like I said earlier, Sarge pretty much walked all the way home.”

“From Colorado?” Shelley questioned.

The big man shook his head. “Lexington, Kentucky, actually. That’s where Amber lives.” He twitched a half-smile, half-grimace. “She drove from Colorado to Kentucky with a gryphon in the back of her new pickup truck.”

Lance whistled low and Alanna’s eyes went wide. Shelley arched a brow, eyeing her husband significantly. “Does _he_ like _her_?”

The kids traded astonished glances and turned back to Wordy, eager for the answer. For his part, Wordy frowned thoughtfully. Shelley’s question implied that it was a foregone conclusion that _Amber_ liked Sarge and… “Well…Lou said he went brick red when Spike started teasing him about her over the comm right before we went undercover.” A shrug. “All Sarge would say is that he’s at least twenty years older than her, with three kids. Oh, and he _has_ a girlfriend already.”

Huh. Maybe Shel, Ed, and Spike had a point. Now that he thought about it, all of Sarge’s objections had been about _himself_ , not Amber. Not that that was out of the ordinary when it came to Sarge; he seemed to revel in being his biggest critic and his own worst enemy, all in one. Still… it was _curious_ that Sarge had religiously stuck to those objections whenever pressed, as if they were all he _could_ cling to. Perhaps, Wordy mused, he doth protest too much. Or however that little snippet went.

Shelley nodded acceptance of her husband’s report, but Wordy recognized the gleam in her eyes. She’d be watching the situation closely and if she liked what she saw, his boss might find himself dealing at least one matchmaker, possibly two if Shel roped in Sophie.

Alanna cleared her throat. “So his hands and feet are all ripped up?”

Forced back to the main topic of discussion, Wordy blew out his breath. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “But it’s more than that.” Misery shone. “He’s lost at least fifty pounds – might be closer to sixty – so he’s _way_ underweight. His system is so outta whack that he’s stuck on broth and soup for another week; that’s why the Healer put him on nutrient potions, too.” The brunet grimaced. “And to top it all off, while we were undercover, his magical core had a partial shutdown.”

Lance swore and Alanna went ghostly pale.

Wordy stared at the table, raking his hands through his longer-than-usual hair. Before going undercover, he’d been planning to get a haircut, but well…he had a feeling any haircuts were going to have to wait. Drawing in a deep, fortifying breath, he soldiered on. “ ‘Lanna, those potions Neal gave you. One is for his hands and the other’s for his feet, but, ah…he wasn’t supposed to be wearing shoes until, well…about now.”

“But he wore them,” Lance filled in, expression solemn.

A miserable nod. “Jules got loafers, trying to keep the damage down, but about all we could do was keep it from getting any worse.” Gray closed in anguish. “I’m not even sure we were able to do that much.” He swallowed around a lump. “He can’t stand for very long right now, ‘cause of his feet and how much he had to overuse his muscles coming home. His hands have nerve damage – don’t know about his feet. When he first woke up, he was having some trouble talking, but I think maybe he just had to get used to being human again.”

“Or it was a side-effect of his core,” Lance mused.

To Wordy’s shock, Alanna nodded agreement. “Extreme magical exhaustion.”

“Wait, I thought the symptoms were different…” Wordy trailed off, not particularly wanting Shelley to find out he’d suffered two episodes of magical exhaustion himself.

Alanna tossed her head, resettling her hair. “A speech impediment isn’t a common symptom,” she admitted. “But I’ve heard of it happening sometimes.” A tiny shrug. “Once the core recovers, it goes away.”

The constable frowned. “Can it be overcome by using magic?”

Violet widened in unfeigned horror. “By the Lion, don’t tell me Uncle Greg _did_ that!”

Wordy squirmed, then winced as Alanna voiced her opinion in a flood of furious, colorful language that sounded like…Ancient Greek? He _wasn’t_ going to ask.

“ ‘Lanna, chill. It’s done, it’s over. You can yell at Uncle Greg in a couple days when he’s feeling better.” Lance turned his head, skewering Wordy with intent sapphire. “You didn’t know.”

Wordy shook his head.

A slight nod. “Then Uncle Greg didn’t know either.” The young man’s shoulders slumped. “How…how long?”

The brunet sighed heavily. “At least two months,” he replied. “Probably closer to three.” He shrugged limply. “Healer Queenscove said he’d make a full recovery, but that was before we had to go undercover for a week and totally ignore the treatment plan.”

Lance’s eyes narrowed. “And why _did_ you have to go undercover?” he demanded. “Especially if Uncle Greg’s as bad as you say.”

Wordy’s laugh was bitter. “Because it turns out the mayor hired Castor Troy’s twin brother as his executive assistant.”

The kids blinked.

“He did _what_?” Shelley hissed in outrage.

The big man’s smirk was mirthless. “Geb Romulus, aka Pollux Troy. Sarge figured it out right off, pretty much as soon as Holleran said the name. Pollux was threatening to send Roy undercover in Sarge’s place, but we all knew that wouldn’t work.”

“But still,” Lance whispered.

“I know, kiddo, I know. Even Ed was sayin’ Sarge should stay put, that Giles could watch Roy’s back until Holleran could get Sarge back in the SRU. But Sarge wouldn’t risk it.” Solemn gray regarded the two teenagers. “He wouldn’t risk Pollux figuring out that either one of you existed.”

“And all of you went with him,” Shelley murmured.

Sorrowful, Wordy nodded. “He couldn’t do it on his own, Shel. And…” The constable stopped, wincing.

“And?” Shelley pressed.

Broad shoulders slumped. “And if he hadn’t, he’d’ve been out of the SRU,” Wordy admitted. “Toth… After Sarge disappeared, Toth started pulling his own strings.” And hadn’t _that_ been a surprise, that Sarge’s second biggest critic had been lobbying for him. “Even went to the mayor.” Another bitter smirk. “But the mayor was more worried about saving his own bacon than doin’ the right thing.” Fury shone. “He gave Sarge three _options_. Retirement, a permanent transfer to IS, or one last week undercover before coming back to the SRU.”

The teens hissed their own fury and Shelley’s eyes narrowed to thin slits.

One shoulder hiked. “Sarge took door number three and never let on that he was hurt. Not even _once_.” Ed had explained it later, to all of them, why Sarge had done that, but somehow, it hadn’t sunk in for Wordy until Sarge had steadfastly insisted that if he _had_ shown weakness, it would’ve been open season on himself and his family.

Silence fell and Wordy turned back to his hot chocolate, idly turning the mug and sipping from it. He felt numb and frozen. In a way, _explaining_ what had happened and _why_ it had happened was almost worse than what they’d gone through. He knew it was necessary, especially since Sarge’s recovery was going to take a very long time, but…it still hurt. Still ripped and tore at the wounds he bore on heart and soul. Wounds that wouldn’t heal until Sarge was back on his feet and on-duty again.

“So Uncle Greg didn’t want us to know he was alive…because we’d be in danger?” Alanna’s voice was small and tentative, hurt evident on her face.

Shelley hugged the redhead and Wordy met her eyes, trying to channel reassurance in her direction. The girl ducked her chin and the brunet reached across, tipping it back up. “Hey, hey. I was there when he woke up the first time. And I’ve never seen anyone so ripped apart in my entire life. He _wanted_ you guys, _wanted_ you with all his heart, but he was scared. No, not scared, he was _terrified_.” Gray held firm, meeting widening violet eyes. “Sarge and Holleran, they lived through Castor Troy’s first rampage through this city, sweetheart. They _knew_ if Castor ever found out that Sarge had family right here in Toronto, you’d never be safe. He would’ve hunted you guys down for as long as it took, just so he could murder you in front of Sarge.”

“But Castor was dead when Uncle Greg came back,” Lance pointed out coolly.

Wordy shook his head. “That just made it worse, kiddo. Think about it. Pollux had two siblings that we know of. Both of ‘em died in that fire two months ago. If he’d found out about you guys, that would’ve been the _perfect_ way to get back at Sarge.”

Shelley sucked in a breath and Alanna’s eyes filled with tears, but Wordy couldn’t help but notice that Lance sat stiffly, expression almost blank as he listened. After a few minutes, the young man nodded acceptance, but his eyes remained wary and guarded. Something was still bothering him, but until Wordy could figure out what the problem was, there was nothing he could do. In short, he had to be patient – and after four months of painful waiting…he _loathed_ patience.

* * * * *

Wordy huffed a sigh to himself as he ghosted through the hallways of his own home towards the guest room. His _head_ knew Sarge was alive, but after waking up from yet _another_ nightmare, his heart needed a fresh reminder. The constable paused when he heard noise ahead of him. Slowing, he peered through the dim shadows and spied a gleam of long hair on the person hovering next to the guest room. Alanna.

The girl turned as the big man joined her, peering over her into the room. Sarge was curled up on the bed, breathing slow, steady, and soft, but audible. Rather than withdraw, Wordy nudged Alanna into the room and crossed to the bed. The constable sat down, wincing at the tiny creak from the bed frame, and reached out to rub at the spot that would keep his boss asleep. He felt, more than saw, Alanna join him.

“It doesn’t seem real.”

Wordy glanced over at her, watching as his niece/cousin hugged herself. “You can touch him, you know.”

It took another few seconds, then she scooted forward and rested a hand on Sarge’s side. Then she pulled back and hugged herself again. “It still doesn’t seem real.”

The big constable sighed and stretched out his free arm, tucking the young woman close even as he kept rubbing Sarge’s back. “I know. The first two days, he was all dosed up on sleeping potions and completely out of it, but we couldn’t stop fighting over who got to sit with him. Sam and Jules just about hit the roof when Ed wouldn’t let them stay overnight.” A pause. “And when we were undercover, every last one of us kept sneaking into his room, just to make sure he was still there.”

Alanna giggled and nuzzled into his chest. Her hand found Sarge’s side again, fingers clenching the coverlet.

“Any idea what’s up with your brother, sweetheart?” Wordy asked.

The shrug he felt made him frown; the frown grew deeper when Alanna ducked her head and avoided his gaze. It took a few minutes, but Alanna finally said, “I think he’s mad.”

“Because we hid Sarge being alive from you guys?” Wordy ventured.

Another shrug, but the girl said nothing more.

Sighing mentally, Wordy resigned himself to waiting, watching, and giving Sarge a heads up on Lance’s… _unhappiness_ …in the morning. “Okay, kiddo, back to bed,” he decided. Gingerly, he edged back off the bed and pulled Alanna with him. The pair ghosted back out of the room and Wordy closed the door behind them. Then he escorted Alanna back to the living room and headed back to his own bedroom.

* * * * *

The morning brought its own complications. Wordy had just finished getting his boss through a shower and the first round of potions when he heard someone knocking at the door. With a frown, Wordy rose and headed for the door, absently noting that Claire was bringing the wooden TV tray for Sarge to use. He hadn’t seen Lance all morning, but Alanna was in the kitchen with Shelley, helping to get breakfast ready.

Partway to his front door, Wordy registered a sharp rap against the ‘team sense’. He stiffened, then stifled a groan as he identified the source.

In the background, Sarge inquired, _‘Eddie?’_

_‘Sorry, Boss; Soph’s on the war path. Word, try not to get run over.’_

_‘Copy,’_ Wordy grumped, shifting to brace himself as he opened the front door.

Sure enough, Sophie Lane was on his front step, almost trembling in fury. Ed was a good meter behind her, clearly attempting to remain out of blast range. “Where is he?” the brunette spat.

Nonchalantly, Wordy leaned against the doorway and hiked a brow. “Where’s who?” he asked innocently.

Sophie’s eyes narrowed, a truly _lethal_ expression appearing on her face. Wordy felt himself freeze, a cold sweat breaking out on his back. The brunette valkyrie studied him in absolute, utter rage and Wordy found himself taking a step backwards without even thinking, Adam’s apple bobbing in a gulp. The Lane matriarch swept in, casting Wordy one final glare that sent shudders down his spine, then dismissed him as a mere _obstruction_ to her ultimate goal and stormed towards the kitchen. For several seconds, Wordy couldn’t even muster the will to move, so _deadly_ had been Sophie’s anger.

“You’re a braver man than I am, Word,” Ed murmured as he stepped inside.

“More like _stupider_ than you are,” Wordy countered, shivering. “How mad _is_ she?”

Before Ed could reply, the enraged valkyrie shrieked, “Gregory Allen Parker, where on _Earth_ have you _been!?!_ How _dare_ you! How _dare_ you make us think you’d started drinking again! How _dare_ you disappear on us and leave us grieving for four _months_!”

Ed scrambled past and Wordy kicked the door shut as he followed his Sergeant; ahead of them, Sophie’s rant escalated to a new octave.

“Do you have any _idea_ what that did to us? How we struggled to _accept_ what you’d _done_? To _explain_ to your _children_ why you’d done that to us. To _them_! How _dare_ you leave us hanging; how _dare_ you do _that_ to Eddie, you selfish, cowardly _scut_!”

The men surged into the living room just in time for Ed to catch his wife’s wrist before she could slap their cowering, cringing boss. “Sophie, enough,” the sniper ordered, hauling her backwards. “Yell all you want, but don’t hit him. He’s taken enough hits.”

“After what he _did_ to you, Eddie?”

The lean man shook his head. “Soph, stop. This wasn’t Greg’s fault.”

“Wasn’t his _fault_?” the brunette valkyrie shrilled. “He _lied_ to you, tricked you into thinking he was drinking all the time and he didn’t _care_ about us anymore.”

Wordy swallowed hard, unable to help but notice the utter…despair on Sarge’s face. And yet the gaunt, injured man offered not a word of protest. It was as if he believed he _deserved_ every bit of Sophie’s furious attack. Except…

“What was he supposed to do?” All attention snapped to the big man, but the brunet refused to back down. “Was he supposed to tell the mayor and the commissioner to shove it? Tell them sorry, but I’m not gonna obey a _gag order_? I’m not gonna transfer to IS and go undercover?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Sophie hissed.

“They’d’ve fired him on the spot,” Wordy snarled right back. “And then that _monster_ would’ve had a free shot at him _and_ the kids.”

Sophie froze – and so did Shelley – but Ed’s expression was grave. “Wordy’s right,” he put in sorrowfully. “If Greg hadn’t gone undercover as ordered, he would’ve lost any and all protection he had. No backup, no legal authority, no _nothing_.”

“As it is,” Wordy cut in, “Sarge is the only survivor left from the original trial.” Bitter, he shook his head. “Before that scum escaped, there were three.”

The last of Sophie’s anger drained away at the declaration. Dark eyes regarded her husband, his teammate, and finally his boss. Indignation flared anew. “So where have you _been_ for the past two _months_?”

Sarge eyed her warily. “I was Portkeyed to the Colorado Rockies and trapped in my Animagus form,” he explained, defensiveness radiating. “I got a ride as far as Kentucky, but after that, I had to walk home.”

“Soph, cool it; he got back just in time to pull my bacon out of that fire at the apartment complex,” Ed interjected. “But it took another day before we could get the collar off.”

“Collar?” Sophie echoed.

Wordy winced, as did Sarge. “The, um, the collar that was keeping Sarge stuck in his form.”

Sophie eyed Wordy, then inspected Sarge from head to toe. “And I suppose all _this_ is why you look like a walking _skeleton_?” Derisive sarcasm rang.

Sarge flinched and stared down at the floor, hunching in on himself again. The guilt, shame, and sheer _regret_ on his face was unmistakable.

“Sophie, stop it,” Shelley intervened, stepping forward to be between the furious brunette and her target. “It was an awful, terrible situation and Greg did the best he could.” Blue narrowed and the blonde frowned, a slight gesture keeping Sophie quiet. “I’m not saying he handled it perfectly, Sophie. Far from it, but Kevin and Ed are right. He _survived_ , _we_ survived, and the kids survived. From what Kevin told us last night, that’s a better outcome than anyone else got in this whole _mess_.”

“He even got a promotion,” Ed pointed out.

The whole room swung to him. “A promotion?” Shelley asked, caught off guard.

One brow rose. “Word? You didn’t tell them?”

Wordy frowned, thinking hard, then his expression turned rather sheepish. “Ah…yeah…I kinda…forgot about that…”

Sophie snorted, Shelley giggled, and Ed shook his head in affectionate dismay. Then the Sergeant produced a deep blue velvet box and offered it to his boss. “Greg? You wanna do the honors or should I?”

Sarge reached out, taking the box, smiling ever so slightly at Alanna’s inquisitive gaze. “All yours, Eddie.”

The sniper grinned at the curious women – and a sullen Lance hovering in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. “Soph, Shelley… _ladies_ …meet the SRU’s first ever lieutenant.”


End file.
